


We March On

by coolbyrne



Series: In Time [2]
Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M, the Celtic one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-02-23 12:22:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23644666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolbyrne/pseuds/coolbyrne
Summary: Caesar makes his push to conquer Britain, but he needs to get through Gaul first. Despite the inevitability of defeat, a band of Celtic warriors take a stand against the Roman insurgence.
Relationships: Jethro Gibbs/Jacqueline "Jack" Sloane
Series: In Time [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1701886
Comments: 23
Kudos: 47





	We March On

**Author's Note:**

> There is a LOT of history in this 1500 words story, too much to really go into detail here. The mention of Caesar would put this around 55BC, if that helps you Google the time period and the places named.:)

Even in the dark, through the rain that came down as if the gods themselves were crying, she could see the river, could hear the life it gave as it roared past the banks below the walled oppidum. It was the only river she had ever known, recalling tales of running along the edges, hopping on stones that guided her way. Her mother’s dismayed shout still rang in her ears and she found a reason to smile.

Without turning, she said, “You’re very brave to sneak up on a woman with a sword.”

His chuckle was low and warm in the cool open air as he came to stand by her side. He glanced up at the rain that fell from the wooden roof over their heads. “I believe that’s the nicest thing a woman has ever said to me.”

“Oh, I see how the women look at you in the village,” she scoffed. “I bet they’ve said all manner of things to you.” The torches in each corner of her small refuge flickered in his eyes, bluer than any other man she knew. There was a mischievousness to them that only added to the light.

“They have,” he admitted. 

She didn’t know him well, this man, except by reputation and honour. He was little more than a soldier in Parisii’s small band of warriors, but his unwavering gaze and unshakeable belief in the good of Celtica made him appear as something bigger, something more solid. She had caught a glimpse of it during the gathering in the public square that day, where the men argued into the night until she had had enough. 

“Thank you for standing up tonight. It didn’t do much good, but I’m grateful.”

He looked into the distance. “It did what you wished,” he replied, and when she turned to question his comment, he pinned her with his gaze. “You’re not the only one who thinks siding with Caesar is nothing more than a prolonged exercise in submission. But you can’t expect them to say that in front of Segomaros. He leads them into battle.”

“He leads you into battle as well,” she reminded him, having none of the excuse.

His grin, still with its memory of youth but with the experience of a man, gave her no doubt the women _did_ say all manner of things to him.

“I may be less hesitant in letting my opinions be known,” he admitted. “But the men _do_ have opinions. And they agree with you.” 

There was promise in his voice that she hoped she wasn’t imagining. “What does that mean?” 

“It means we meet Caesar at the mouth of Matrona as requested.” Before she could object, he slyly added, “A day before the agreed upon date.” 

Her eyes went wide. “How-”

“How?” He repeated her question with a knowing smirk. “How did I convince them? Didn’t take much talk. It’s no secret Caesar is only using Gaul to fill his coffers in Rome. He cares not about us and when we’re of no further use to him, we’ll share the same fate as the tribes in the south. We’ve _persuaded_ Segomaros.” She had some idea of what physical threat that persuasion entailed and the mirth that faded from his face only gave her suspicions creedence. “Word’s been sent to Bellovaci,” he continued, “even if it’s too late. Caesar wants Portius Itius and he’ll take it by whatever means necessary. His aim is the island; the port’s the most strategic point to launch the Roman ships.”

“We’ll wait for him to touch the north shore of the river before attacking from the back?”

“‘We’? There’s no ‘we’. You’ll lead the women and children along the Seine to Lexovii. They’ll be waiting. It’s a longer sail to Brittania from there, but they’ll help you.”

She was momentarily left stunned by his presumption. “My husband may have died 2 years ago, but I’m still the wife of an elder!”

“And I am nothing more than a man with a sword.”

Her eyes closed at how bare he had laid out her accusation. “I didn’t mean to lessen your worth.”

The soft apology must have worked, because he said, “And I didn’t mean to lessen yours. I know how your husband died and I know you were there.” He cast his gaze into the night, as if he could see the battlefield. “You’ve fought just as hard as any man. Which is why you’re the one who has to lead the village to safety. There will be no men left to help.” 

She touched his bare arm at the finality in his voice. The Celts may have had the tenacity and the will, but the Romans had the numbers and the might. She knew he was right; to ambush the Romans would only end one way, and she wondered if her haste to call the tribe to honour would be the death knell for them all. “Then why?”

His jaw clenched. “Because I would rather die on my feet than on my knees.” Sanding the edges in his tone, he said, “And perhaps I’ve done enough in my life that the gods will smile on me this one time.”

“I will pray to Taranis in your name.” She lifted a hand to cup his cheek.

He turned into her touch. “The thunder God?”

“Because you have a storm across your face but blue skies in your eyes.”

“I may have to amend my judgment of nice things women have said to me. Still, praying to Andarta might be a better suggestion.”

“And risk her losing herself in those eyes? I think not.” She felt his grin under her palm. “Do you believe, as the druids say, that we’ll see each other again? I can tell by your scoff. Don’t you want to believe we’ll see our loved ones again?”

“I worry about seeing some of my fellow soldiers again. Mogarix could _not_ be silent. But I may finally be able to find out what he did with my axe.”

Despite it all, she laughed. Then, with a brush of her thumb across his bottom lip, she said, “I worry, you know.”

He nodded. “You have much to worry about. But I’m here to help.”

“You leave tomorrow?”

“At first light.” Daringly, he kissed her palm. 

“And I was just starting to like having you around .” Now it was his turn to laugh, and she felt lighter for it. She stood on tiptoes and placed a kiss on his cheek, whispering, “Will you stay the night?” The words were barely a sound above the rain.

Whatever doubt she might have had was swept aside when he returned the kiss, pressing his lips to the corner of her mouth. “If you’ll have me.”

She slid her hand from his face down his chest and laced her fingers through his. “I’ll have you,” she said as she led him inside out of the rain.

…..

The morning was bright and clear and as she stood in the same spot she had not 6 hours ago, she felt a patch of melancholy bloom in her chest. Women and children were saying their farewells to their husbands, brothers, fathers and sons, some tearful, others with the boisterous naivety that came with youth. She did not go down to the departing soldiers; in the eyes of her fellow tribesmen, she had no one to see off, and she didn’t think she could bear it anyway. She could still feel his hands on her skin, his warm whispers in her ear, his body against hers, and she yearned to yell out for them to stop, that she had been hasty in her judgment, that marching against Caesar was a mistake, she had had too much wine, whatever excuse she needed to make to convince them to stay. But she knew they were both right; they’d be marching to an inevitable conclusion no matter which path they chose. So she stood, chin up, eyes moving over the gathering but trying desperately to not look. She should have known blue eyes would find her, despite her best efforts to not seek them out.

He made no motion to acknowledge her, nothing outward that any observer could see. But she saw it in the blue that was as bright and clear as the morning, saw it in the expression of a face she would burn into her heart. He must have seen through her hard fought stoicism, because he broke his own by offering her the memory of the grin he knew she loved so well, before turning towards the north as the soldiers began their foot march to the Rhine.

…..

-the end but not really


End file.
